Pet Psychic Mysteries Boxset Books 5-8 (Magic Market Mysteries Book 2) by Erin Johnson (reading diary .TXT) 📗

Ralph?” The young woman who’d let us in bent over him and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “Papa Ralph?”

Wow—that just sounded wrong. I curled my lip and glanced up at Peter, ready to share a knowing look, but he kept his eyes fixed ahead, ignoring me. I huffed and turned back toward the apparently devastated husband, annoyance burning in my chest. Fine—if he wanted to make working together miserable, then just fine.

“Papa Ralph?” The woman tried again, a little louder.

Totally out of patience, I cleared my throat. “Hey! Ralph Litt! Police here—we need to talk to you.”

The hangers-on let out a collective gasp and recoiled, looking me up and down. A couple perched on the back of the couch shook their heads at me and whispered to each other, while a woman nearby dissolved into loud, gulping sobs.

Daisy growled. Lies.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, for sand’s sake.” I flashed my eyes at the group and gestured to Daisy. “Magically lie-sniffing dog here—we know you’re all faking.”

Peter shot me a side-eye look and stepped forward. “I’ll take it from here.”

I glared at his back. Oh, would he? About time.

Peter’s quill and scroll appeared beside his head. “Ralph Litt—we need to speak with you about your wife’s death.”

Tanned to the point of looking like orange old leather, Ralph lifted his head and let his arm drop from his bloodshot eyes. He blinked up at us. “Ask away, Opicer.”

I raised my brows. The guy was toasted—what was in that potion of his? I glanced around the messy hotel suite. And where could I get some?

Peter looked around. “If everyone else could please wait in the next room, we’ll have another officer up here soon to question you.”

Grumbling, the lot of them moved off through a door that I assumed led to an adjoining room. Only one pretty young woman hesitated. She clutched a clipboard to her chest and blinked at Ralph with huge blue eyes filled with concern. “You—you’ll be okay?”

Ralph waved her off. “Yeah, honey, I got this.”

Her throat bobbed, and she parted her lips like she wanted to say something but nodded and followed the others out. Once the door shut behind her, Ralph waved us closer.

“Take a load off.”

I perched on the edge of a white sofa, glad for the heat of the fire. Fall was coming on fast, and the breeze blowing in from the open doors was downright chilly. A pit formed in my stomach.

The cold of winter wouldn’t be too far behind—and as a cursed witch without magic, I wasn’t able to make any of the appliances or utilities run in my apartment, including heating. It made winters downright dangerous. I hugged my arms around myself and sighed.

Oh, well—problem for future Jolene to solve. At least I’d landed this consulting gig—even if it would probably be my last—and the money would help for a bit.

Peter settled down on the couch, about as far away as he could get from me, then introduced us. After he explained about Daisy being a lie-sniffing dog, Ralph, still bleary-eyed and lounging on the rug, looked the German shepherd up and down. He patted Buttercup’s pink side. “He friendly with pigs?”

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “It’s a she, actually.”

Ralph blinked at me, his eyes barely focused. “Well la-di-da.”

I shifted my gaze to Peter. We probably wouldn’t even need Daisy or my animal translation skills at this point. The guy was so wasted, he’d probably just blurt out that he’d killed his wife, and we could wrap this up and call it a night. Peter’s hard gaze darted to me, then back to Ralph, and I heaved a sigh. And then Peter and I could go back to not speaking to each other—oh, joy.

Peter cleared his throat. “We need to ask you some questions, if that’s alright.”

Ralph took a swig from his glass, the ice cubes clinking against the side. He lifted it up, the firelight glinting off the clear golden liquid. “Ask away!”

Peter nodded. “Where did you get the vial from—the one you handed your wife on stage before she died?”

Ralph hung his head and shrugged. “She handed it to me herself earlier this evening.”

Peter and I both looked to Daisy, who sat in between us. She whined. True.

“Did you tamper with it at all? Poison it? Add anything to it or spell it?” Peter leaned forward.

Ralph took another big swig, polishing off his drink. He set the glass down on the silk ottoman closest to him and began playing with his wedding ring. “No. No, I did not.”

Daisy wagged her tail. Truth.

I frowned. Not the answer I’d been expecting.

Peter shifted in his seat. “Did anyone else have access to it?”

Ralph shook his head. “No.” He slid his golden wedding band up and down his finger, his gaze far away. “Well…” He tipped his head. “I put it in my jacket pocket.” He sighed. “And I toog my jacket off seferal times throughout the evening—left it on a chair, backstage, in the lobby… so, yeah. I guess anyone coulda had a chance to tamper it.”

Unfortunately, Daisy confirmed this as true. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, and I shared the sentiment. Guess our suspect pool just expanded to literally everyone who’d attended the summit—thousands—not to mention the hotel staff.

Ralph looked up, brows pinched together. “Is that what killed her? The potion in thag vial?”

Peter cleared his throat. “We’re not sure yet, but we’ve sent it to the station for testing.”

Ralph gave a slight nod, then hung his head again.

I plunked my chin in my hand and stared at the firelight for a moment as Peter grabbed his scroll and looked over his notes. The fire glinted off Ralph’s ring as he slid it up and down his finger, over and over again. The movement stood out to me—something was off. I focused on it—aha! I sat up straighter.

The guy was tanned to a crisp—but there was no white band beneath his ring, like I’d have expected.